“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You needed the rest. According to the GPS, this is it. Oh, my.” She turned onto a paved driveway and pulled up to a large stone and iron gate.
Faelan wiped his bleary eyes and looked at the fence-lined fields rolling into green hills and copses of trees already showing red and gold. A dozen horses grazed, tails flicking. He leaned forward, gazing at the driveway that disappeared into the woods. A few feet beyond, it would cross a wooden bridge, spanning the gentle burn that in hard rain could reach Nandor’s head. The road had been dirt then. Home.
***
Duncan Connor surveyed the monitors covering the perimeter of the castle and grounds. Five hundred acres wasn’t easy to protect. In olden days, they’d relied on warriors stationed around the boundary. His father still talked of those days. Things were different now. In modern times, man had to use modern weapons, not that a demon couldn’t get through if he really tried, but he’d have hell to pay when he got over the fence. Shane moved into sight on monitor B, his sword strapped to his back, a Glock at his waist. He wouldn’t need the Glock. He was one of the fastest with a sword. Duncan glanced at the other monitors, checking the warriors’ positions. There were more on guard than usual today.
A beep sounded, announcing a visitor. Duncan turned to the gate monitor. A rental car sat at the entrance. This must be her. He pushed the button. “Yes?”
“Hello,” a female voice said. “I’m Bree Kirkland. I spoke to Duncan Connor about a relative. I believe he’s expecting me.”
Duncan couldn’t imagine what news she could have about a relative, but she’d sounded nervous, making him suspect a trick. He saw movement in the passenger seat. Almost surely a trick. She was supposed to be alone. Two warriors entered the room behind him.
“Gate’s open. Follow the drive and pull around back.” He pushed the button opening the gate, and the car rolled forward at a snail’s pace past the cameras mounted along the long road.
“Keep your weapons close,” he told the men flanking him.
“You think this has something to do with Angus?” Brodie asked.
“Aye. I’m starting to think so.” Her suspicious call, coming so soon after the one from Angus, made Duncan leery. Reinforcements had been called in, just in case she had something deadly up her sleeve. Duncan slipped his dirk into its sheath and listened for the car to roll to a stop. When he touched the doorknob, a shiver rippled up his arm. He’d been restless all week. Sorcha wasn’t helping, disappearing for days at a time, and when she deigned to resurface, she never revealed where she’d been. Did she have a serious boyfriend this time? The question stung like a hook in his gut. She flaunted her men like a fisherman flaunted trout.
He hoped her lies were as big.
***
“It’s a castle.” Bree stared at the large, stone structure and turned to gape at Faelan. “Druan’s castle. Why didn’t you tell me his castle looked like this one?”
“What was there to say? I don’t understand it either.” Connor Castle was almost the same as the last time he’d seen it. The stone appeared more weathered, and there were boxes mounted along the walls. Cameras, if his twenty-first century knowledge was correct. He’d seen them at the gate and on poles and trees along the drive as well. It would be interesting to see how time had changed the battle.
The castle sat in the middle of five hundred acres, encircled by a thick stand of woods blocking it from the prying eyes and the curious townsfolk of his day. Warriors had been posted at the boundaries, rotating every six months. Anyone who got past them—almost none did—found a horse farm, which it was, in part. It was also the seat of Clan Connor. Faelan had spent more than his share of time watching for busybodies and demons. When he wasn’t hunting, he stayed in one of the cottages along the boundary, to his mother’s delight and his. Her cooking beat his by far.
Bree turned off the engine. Faelan opened the car door and stepped out. A gust swirled at his knees, lifting the edge of his kilt. He pulled in the crisp highland air, filling his lungs with memories. The trees were thicker, taller, but the lay of the land was the same. The stable was larger, and he could see horses in the back fields. There’d always been horses. They hadn’t had Mustangs with powerful engines back then. There was a large building close to the castle, with several trucks parked outside and other buildings beyond it. He went around to open Bree’s door, but as usual, she’d already jumped out.
“It’s beautiful,” Bree said, her head turning in all directions.
“My great-great-great-grandfather built it to house all the warriors who came through.” In Faelan’s day, the grounds had been astir with young boys training. From the time a lad could walk, he was groomed to be a warrior. From birth until death, the warrior blood flowed, but the responsibilities changed to make room for families, for a new generation to be bred. The retired warriors handled most of the training, some specializing in weapons, others fighting, and some instructing in spiritual matters, so a lad understood the importance of his mission, why he was required to make such a sacrifice. All areas had to be mastered before warriors could do battle.
The active warriors, when time allowed, took pride in demonstrating special skills, how to fight, using their weapons and minds. Faelan remembered the first time he’d seen Kieran, how big and powerful he seemed to a lad of fourteen years. Kieran had done more than teach Faelan what it meant to be a warrior. The mentor had become a trusted friend, fighting by Faelan’s side, and in the end, Kieran had given his life so Faelan could live. A debt Faelan could never repay.
“Do you think Druan saw this place before he built his?”
“I think if Druan had seen this place he would’ve tried to destroy it.” Maybe his clan would know how such a thing could be. Faelan’s stomach knotted like twine. How would his family take meeting an ancestor who should be rotting in a grave? He glanced at Bree for reassurance, thinking how strange to be in his own land, standing in front of his home, finding comfort and familiarity in the face of someone he’d met only days before.
What would she do if his family didn’t believe him? Would she abandon him? Eventually, she would. She’d fall in love, maybe with the archeologist, marry, and have bairns. Jealousy took the edge off his nerves.
“Is it always this windy?” she asked, eyeing his flapping kilt.
“Aye. Much of the time.” He’d warned her to pack warmer clothes, and they purchased thick shirts and a coat
